Amnesia
by Furaha
Summary: After the duel with ObiWan on Mustafar, Anakin loses something very important...his memory! Rated for possible violencelanguage.
1. Chapter 1

-Disclaimer- 

I don't own Star Wars. Wish I did, 'cause then I'd be rich, but it don't work that way. I'm just a clueless fan. I'm not making any money or profit off of this story, other then the pleasure of seeing reviews suggesting that people like my insane ideas. 

Yes. I did it. I admit it. I started a story, in the middle of writing another one. The plot bunny bit me a few months ago, actually, when I wrote this. A few weeks ago, the bite swelled up again, so I wrote down some synopsis notes, but that's it... 

--- 

_She was dying. No, perhaps she was already dead…but he still saw her, dying, her beautiful face contorted into a painful scream of agony. Her mouth was open, screaming, but he heard nothing. No, a yell was sounding somewhere within his conscious; he could here her, but the sound was faint, overwhelmed by the burning hiss of lava destroying whatever lay in its path…_

Lava? Where did all this lava come from? There, she's still dying…dying in the lava. Crying. But she's dead already…somehow he knew she was dead.. She was dead, and they were dead…they all died. They? Yes, they. She's dead, and the babies are dead. What babies? He didn't know where the babies came from…no, wait, she was pregnant. But she was dying, screaming…choking among the lava. Everything was burning up, dying…dying and crying. And he didn't know why.

For all he knew, he had been lying here forever…wherever "here" was. He had been lying here forever, his agonized mind drifting from one torturous dream to the next. They didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense anymore. The dreams were all a jumbled mess, some happy, most disturbing.

She wasn't dead anymore. Now she was smiling, brushing her curly hair, talking. She was talking about going back to her home, where she could raise the baby…but how could she, if she was dead, and the baby died with her? Weren't their two babies? No, that was impossible. She was crying now, while the fire—no, lava—burned all around, a ceaseless red glow that was tinted with death…the lava's glow narrowed into a single, bright crimson beam as the restless dreams shifted once again. Couldn't he get a moment's rest? Couldn't he get any time to try to reconcile who he was?

The red beam flickered and moved, a constant buzzing drone emitting from it. Sparks flew as the beam met another, violet in color. Both beams droned on, dancing in a dangerous duel, everything else shrowded in the darkness of the nightmare.

Before he could get a firm grip on what was happening, the images shifted again, this time to a gentle face, smiling with pride but biting back tears. How could someone be happy and sad at the same time? She was saying farewell to someone, that was why…happy only because he was going away to a better place. Better then a slave's life…and they would meet again. Of course, they would meet again…her face changed. It was the same woman, but changed, older and sadder. And dying. Why did everyone die? Was he dying? They met again, but then she had to die…

Then everything faded into a deepless black void, the sizzling, dangerous sound of lava flooding his thoughts and pounding mercilessly into his ears. Great, just great. Now he was dying. But he couldn't die, not now, not if it was worth saving her…

Trembling, a hand grasped the hot earth, and a dark-clothed form managed to heave himself out of harm's way, just moments before the lava river surged, burning dangerously close to his feet. But he was still alive.  
"He's stil alive!" A voice echoed his thoughts. _Yeah, ok, so I'm still alive. Still having nightmares. What's going on? Why is everyone dead…?_

He began to see a cloaked figure as his eyes came into focus, but the blurry image still seemed far-off, distant as a dream. Distant as a nightmare, actually.

_Ok. Let's recap. I'm still alive. The bad dreams…they have to mean something. I don't who I am, who that person is, or what I'm doing here. Just that I'm alive, but everyone else died…I think. Did they die? No, one thing at a time. Let's keep this simple. I don't know who I am. Ironic. I must have a name. Vader? No, I don't like that name. I'm not Vader. Vader is the one who killed everyone…right? But Vader's the only thing that comes to my mind at the moment, so let's just say I'm Vader. Ok. I am Vader. I kill people. Ouch, eek, ugh. I don't want to kill people…is that why everyone died? I killed them? That's…that's crazy. I don't kill people, and I'm not Vader. Then who am I?_

His eyes fluttered as he tried to figure things out, still halfway unconscious. _Ok, so who is that hooded person? Master? Yes, that's right, I call him Master. He's…he's the one training me in the ways of the Force. But I got mad at him. I remember hating him…hating him and everyone else! It's his fault she's dead! He turned her against me, and…and…and everything is his fault._

Oh, wait a minute, that's not Master. Master left me here to die. But I called him Master…then…he…then he told me to kill everyone. Or something like that. Darth…Darth…Vader? That guy is Vader, then. And he killed them…but he can't be Vader. No, the person in the hood is not Vader. I'm Vader, but I don't want to be Vader. The only thing I know right now is that I'm confused beyond all reason. And that his name begins with Darth. That's strange. What does "darth" have to do with anything?

What was that? Someone was training me…in the Force. What? The Force…darkness…hatred. Hatred and anger. That's all I know. Hatred, anger, and deep, unceasing confusion. But…but that's not what the Force is! Is it? She's dead, and it's because…because…because Kenobi…Kenobi did something. He did something that made me angry, and he turned her against me, and then she died…and I was only angry because this Darth person came and ruined everything, just so that I could have power. Huh? That doesn't sound like something I would do…no, wait, I wanted the power so that I could save her.

I only wanted to save her… With this last thought, his blue eyes closed as he drifted once more into unconsciousness.

---

_Hmm. Well, at least it's not burning anymore. I'm in a…a room. Yeah, a room…of course I'm in a room. Where else would I be? _He forced himself to sit upright, and upon looking around, he concluded that he was in a medical facility of some sort. _Why? I feel perfectly fine…_In fact, he could find nothing wrong with him at all, other then being tired, confused, and having no memory. _At least I'm in one piece this time. But my hand was cut off…and now I have a prosthetic hand. No, wait…that was before. Before the fire…lava._

Shrugging, he climbed out of his bed, finding he was the only one in the room. _OUCH. My foot is not ok._ He looked down, finding that his left foot was burned…the lava must have reached his foot. _But, other then that, I'm perfectly fine. Yeah, right. How can you be 'perfectly fine' if you have no idea who you are?_ Surveying the room, he discovered a looking glass, and he limped over it.  
The figure staring back at him was a very tired looking young man in his early twenties, with shaggy, wavy dark blonde hair, dark blue eyes rimmed with dark circles, tall, and draped in a loose white mecical robe. A scar was over his right eye, and he squinted, trying to remember where it came from. But for all he knew, the reflection staring back at him was a complete stranger. _I can't even remember my own name. No, wait! Oh, nevermind. My name is NOT Vader. _

Sighing, the young man looked around the room, trying to see if he could discover anything that would unearth clues to his identity. The only item of interest was a black hooded robe. As he stared at the garment, he felt the urge to leave. _I have to get out of here. Before that hooded guy comes back…I don't know who he is. But I have to get away from him._

---

As the sun set over half of Coruscant, a simple civilian ship left the planet, piloted by a figure shrouded in a hooded robe. _Funny. I know how to pilot a ship, but I don't know my name. No, that's probably not very funny. Hmm, where to now?_ He looked at the map, looking for any planet that sounded like a possibly safe haven. _Not that I know exactly what I'm running from. Oh well._ _Tatooine…that sounds nice. Outer rim mystery planet of Tatooine, here I come. Maybe there's an answer there…_


	2. Chapter 2

-Disclaimer- 

-Checks notes- Nope, still don't own nothin'.

_19 years later..._

Owen Lars' expression was set in stone as he studied the new ranch hand with a critical eye. He was rather tall, in his 40's, with shaggy dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. There was something about him, something strangely familiar. For an instant, an insane thought crossed Owen's mind. _'The same hair color, the same eyes...'_ But he quickly dismissed the thought. It was impossible.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"John," came the rather blunt answer.

"John who?"

"Cloudchaser."

"John Cloudchaser," Owen echoed flatly. It sounded just like any other generic name. "And what did you do before coming to work here?"

"Odd jobs." John Cloudchaser didn't seem like a talkative person.

"Odd jobs?"

"Yeah...I've been just doing whatever jobs I could find in the past 20 years or so, here on Tatooine. Nothing illegal."

"And before that?"

John hesitated. "I don't know..." He said uneasily.

Owen narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You don't know?"

"I...I lost my memory." _'Other then the nightmares, I have pretty much nothing to go on about my former life...I don't want to go back to that. There was death, and suffering...'_

"I see...well, John, what things are you good at?"

"Mechanics...droids, ships, whatever." _'Strange how I can remember skills, but not names...'_

"So you can get to work on these moisture vaporaters?" Owen asked again, in a business-like manner.

"Sure," John answered.

"Alright then. Kennith can show you what to do," he said, referring to one of the more experianced hands.

"Thank you, Mr. Lars," John said politely as he got up from his seat, walking out the door to his newest job.

Owen shook his head. "I swear, I've seen him before..." He mused quietly to himself as John Cloudchaser walked out the door.

---

Darth Sassin slumped in his chair, glad to be alone in his quarters for once. At 19, he had a job most Imperials could only dream of: being at the Emperor's right hand, carrying out special orders, and being trained in the mysterious ways of the Force, but the young Sith apprentice couldn't help but feel unsatisfied. Something in his life was missing, something that should have been a large part of his life.

Sighing, he walked into the 'fresher and gazed at his reflection in the small mirror. Taking off the black hood that overshadowed his face, he could almost pretend he was a normal teenager...almost. With his short-cropped, blonde-brown hair, and bright blue eyes, he didn't look at all menacing. _'And that's what the damn hood is for...'_ Darth Sassin hated the stupid Sith robes just as much as everything else in his life. They were uncormfortable and, according to him, unpracticle. _'Of_ _course, though, the Emperor has to make sure his right-hand guy doesn't look like a baby. I have to look all dark and threatening...and I hate it. I hate my life.'_ The teenager walked out of the 'fresher, going back to slump in his chair. It was times like this were he liked to daydream, to recall memories of his childhood, and try to picture what his parents were like. He only dared to dream, of course, when he was for sure alone. Sith apprentices weren't supposed to daydream like that.

_"Aunt Beru! I'm sick of bantha steaks...can't we eat something else?" The young boy, six years old, pouted._

_Aunt Beru smiled, but he wasn't sure if it was entirely sincere. "Luke, honey, bantha steaks are all we can afford at the moment."_

_Unsatisfied, the child sat down on a stool and crossed his arms, sticking his lower lip out in disapproval. Aunt Beru walked over to him, pulling up a chair to sit down. "Maybe, when the harvest is better, we can afford better food...and we'll eat like Naboo royalty," She said, running over her nephew's light hair._

_Luke gave her an unconvinced stare. "Really?"_

_"Really," Aunt Beru promised. "But not now...you know, there are some people in the galaxy that have never eaten bantha."_

_"Lucky them."_

_His aunt smiled in a motherly fashion. "Well, some people who aren't from Tatooine enjoy bantha."_

_Luke stared at her in total disbelief. "Why?"_

_"Because it's new to them...just be happy where you are, Luke. When you're older, and off by yourself, you may have everything you could ask for in the galaxy, but you'll find yourself missing what you used to have."_

"She was so right..." Darth Sassin muttered outloud to himself. "So right...I wish those blasted Imperials had never come to my home..."

It had happened when he was around seven years old...he hadn't exactly known why, but for some reason, Imperial Stormtroopers had decided that the living conditions on a poor Tatooine moisture farm wasn't a suitible environment to grow up in. _'As if THIS was any better...why me? Why did all the other kids get to stay? Not like their lives were any better then mine...'_

His train of thought was interrupted as he got a message on his comlink. _'Kriff,'_ the teenager thought as he was informed of the rebel ship they had just intercepted. _'I don't feel like boarding any ships at the moment...'_ He said as he got up, pulling his hood up so that it overshadowed his face again, leaving all memories behind as he prepared to be the Sith apprentice that all the rebels were supposed to fear...

-A/N-

Oh, this is going to be a FUN story to write! But I'll need encouragement. -Cough- Right...


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